It's been almost two months, but it's
really taken me that long to process this experience; my birth
experience with Wilson was almost the complete opposite than Waylon's - I
can honestly say the experiences were so different that I wasn't at all
prepared for the labor and birth of my second son.
After a month of prodromal labor, where some days I had early labor contractions every 15 minutes, with my pelvis feeling like it was splitting in two, with my hip and lower back going out every time I moved, heartburn, reactive high blood pressure, generally just feeling fatigued and was carrying a giant parasite inside of me, I was pretty much ready for labor to start any minute.
On May 28th, my day started with Mike and I stressed out; he was sick, Wilson was miserable and cranky and I couldn't move much. I put my hospital bag and a list of the things that still needed to go into my hospital bag on the counter for Mike...just in case. I went to the chiropractor so that I could walk straight again; then I went to my midwife's appointment. Elise sat down and said, "So, how are you doing?" I looked at her and, literally, burst into tears. She immediately came over and gave me a huge hug. I was so exhausted from contractions and the general exhaustion of the third trimester; the day before, Waylon wasn't moving much, causing me great anxiety on top of being already so tired. We talked about our options and she told me that she would send me to Yale to check on baby movement, fluid and my blood pressure, which was really high again. I walked out to my car (well, waddled) and called Mike, telling him that it was likely I would be induced today given the high blood pressure. I then called my doula, Hannah, and cried on the phone as I told her the news.
I got to Yale for all the testing, got settled in and attempted to accept the likelihood that I would be most likely induced that day, something I really did not want to happen. And then my blood pressure was fine, fluid check was good and they thought that I would not be induced. My midwife said, "let me check your BP one more time." And it was 170/90. Oops. So induction it is. I called Mike, told him to get our hospital bag, let the sitters and our friends know and get prepared to be a daddy to two sons.
My doula, Hannah, and Mike met me at the hospital. The nurse made sure my IV was comfortably placed and that I had everything I needed. I was still in early labor around 6 p.m. when they started the Pitocin (oh, Pitocin, how I hate you). For the next seven hours, I stayed in early labor as the contractions became more intense. Even with the higher Pitocin intensity, I was able to stay calm, focus on my shaman ability to visualize and detach from the pain and was doing great (despite the contractions being about 1 to 2 minutes apart). I asked to be checked again because I felt I wasn't making much progress (and because being in early labor for a month is a little tiring). I asked for the Benadryl medication that helps you sleep/ kills the pain if I hadn't progressed. And after checking me at 1 a.m., big shocker, I had gone from 3 cm to 4 cm. My midwife asked if it was ok to break my water and I, hoping that this would move things along, said yes.
Well, it certainly did move things along. The medication did not make me sleep nor did it touch the pain. I went from having intense early labor contractions to 1) ACTIVE labor, 2) TRANSITIONAL labor, and 3) PUSHING contractions ALL at the same time. The contractions were on top of each other, with almost no break in between. It was like being hit by a freight train. The nurse told me to try not to push through the contractions and I just looked at her like she was stupid. NOT push? I had no choice!!!! But they gave my some breathing exercises I should do and it seemed to work at least a little bit.
To be clear, I went from a spiritual guru calmly handling each surge to a crazed lunatic screaming like a banshee for a freaking epidural. After about 40 minutes, I was adamant for an epidural. I had been growling like a beast through the contractions, squeezing the crap out of everything/everyone that was near me, crying/hyperventilating (doula was helpful here, reminding me to stay calm and breathe) and collapsing when I had about 30 seconds to breathe in between. I wanted to run screaming from the room, the hospital, my body, my life. Tear the kid out, I didn't care - it was the most intense pain I had ever felt in my life and felt nothing like my 50-hour labor with Wilson (which, if you were wondering, was pretty bad). My midwife asked to check me again and she found that I had gone from 4 cm to 7 cm in less than 45 minutes. She looked at me empathically and said, "That's so much progress, Misty! Does this change how you feel about the epidural?" And I looked at her and said, "NOPE!" Please to stab me in the back with a giant needle full of crazy drugs that kill my bottom half. I'm dying.
She turned to the computer to order the epidural and I asked Mike to help me to the bathroom. He helped me into the room where I kept saying that I felt I needed to poop. Yep, poop. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes trying not to push and then I stood up. Only to sit back down because it felt like I still had to go to the bathroom. Then, suddenly remembering a random episode of 16 and Pregnant (yes I watch and love this show as it makes me always feel completely prepared as a parent in comparison), I realized that this sensation wasn't about going to the bathroom, it was the baby!!! I screamed out, "THE BABY IS COMING NOW!!!!!" My midwife came running in and slid under me like she was sliding into home base. She reassured me that she was there and yelled for the nurse. I grabbed on to Mike who was kneeling down trying to help me up. I remember him saying, "baby, what, what?" I suddenly realized that I was digging my nails into his arms and biting his shirt. I remember thinking, "Oh, well, he'll live," and with two pushes, I pushed Waylon out into the arms of our midwife.
Let's review: 50 hours of active labor for Wilson -- 55 minutes for Waylon. And believe it or not, the 50 hours was easier than those intense nutzo 55 minutes. But in the end, I had my little nugget: a healthy 7 pounds 9 ounces, 20.5 inches-long, perfect little boy. But, boy would I love to have an uneventful birth story. Oh well, I guess I'll always have material for the blog.
My doula, Hannah, and Mike met me at the hospital. The nurse made sure my IV was comfortably placed and that I had everything I needed. I was still in early labor around 6 p.m. when they started the Pitocin (oh, Pitocin, how I hate you). For the next seven hours, I stayed in early labor as the contractions became more intense. Even with the higher Pitocin intensity, I was able to stay calm, focus on my shaman ability to visualize and detach from the pain and was doing great (despite the contractions being about 1 to 2 minutes apart). I asked to be checked again because I felt I wasn't making much progress (and because being in early labor for a month is a little tiring). I asked for the Benadryl medication that helps you sleep/ kills the pain if I hadn't progressed. And after checking me at 1 a.m., big shocker, I had gone from 3 cm to 4 cm. My midwife asked if it was ok to break my water and I, hoping that this would move things along, said yes.
Well, it certainly did move things along. The medication did not make me sleep nor did it touch the pain. I went from having intense early labor contractions to 1) ACTIVE labor, 2) TRANSITIONAL labor, and 3) PUSHING contractions ALL at the same time. The contractions were on top of each other, with almost no break in between. It was like being hit by a freight train. The nurse told me to try not to push through the contractions and I just looked at her like she was stupid. NOT push? I had no choice!!!! But they gave my some breathing exercises I should do and it seemed to work at least a little bit.
To be clear, I went from a spiritual guru calmly handling each surge to a crazed lunatic screaming like a banshee for a freaking epidural. After about 40 minutes, I was adamant for an epidural. I had been growling like a beast through the contractions, squeezing the crap out of everything/everyone that was near me, crying/hyperventilating (doula was helpful here, reminding me to stay calm and breathe) and collapsing when I had about 30 seconds to breathe in between. I wanted to run screaming from the room, the hospital, my body, my life. Tear the kid out, I didn't care - it was the most intense pain I had ever felt in my life and felt nothing like my 50-hour labor with Wilson (which, if you were wondering, was pretty bad). My midwife asked to check me again and she found that I had gone from 4 cm to 7 cm in less than 45 minutes. She looked at me empathically and said, "That's so much progress, Misty! Does this change how you feel about the epidural?" And I looked at her and said, "NOPE!" Please to stab me in the back with a giant needle full of crazy drugs that kill my bottom half. I'm dying.
She turned to the computer to order the epidural and I asked Mike to help me to the bathroom. He helped me into the room where I kept saying that I felt I needed to poop. Yep, poop. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes trying not to push and then I stood up. Only to sit back down because it felt like I still had to go to the bathroom. Then, suddenly remembering a random episode of 16 and Pregnant (yes I watch and love this show as it makes me always feel completely prepared as a parent in comparison), I realized that this sensation wasn't about going to the bathroom, it was the baby!!! I screamed out, "THE BABY IS COMING NOW!!!!!" My midwife came running in and slid under me like she was sliding into home base. She reassured me that she was there and yelled for the nurse. I grabbed on to Mike who was kneeling down trying to help me up. I remember him saying, "baby, what, what?" I suddenly realized that I was digging my nails into his arms and biting his shirt. I remember thinking, "Oh, well, he'll live," and with two pushes, I pushed Waylon out into the arms of our midwife.
Let's review: 50 hours of active labor for Wilson -- 55 minutes for Waylon. And believe it or not, the 50 hours was easier than those intense nutzo 55 minutes. But in the end, I had my little nugget: a healthy 7 pounds 9 ounces, 20.5 inches-long, perfect little boy. But, boy would I love to have an uneventful birth story. Oh well, I guess I'll always have material for the blog.
Photo by Laura Elyse Photography
